Sayings of the Cistercian Fathers

Moreover, if you more closely contemplate every creature, from the first to the last, from the highest to the lowest, from the loftiest angel to the lowliest worm. you will surely discover divine goodness -- which we have called nothing other than divine charity -- which contains, enfolds, and penetrates all things, not by pouring into a place, or being diffused in space, or by nimbly moving about, but by the steady, mysterious, and self-contained simplicity of its substantial presence.

Charity joins the lowest to the highest, binds in harmonious peace contraries to contraries, cold to hot, wet to dry, smooth to rough, hard to soft, so that among all creatures there can be nothing adverse, nothing contradictory, nothing unbecoming, nothing disturbing, nothing to disfigure the beauty of the universe, but that all things should rest, as it were, in utterly tranquil peace, with the tranquility of that order which charity ordained in the universe.

When in the light of Truth a person knows herself and so thinks less of herself, it will certainly follow that what she loved before will now become bitter to her. She is brought face to face with herself and blushes at what she sees. Her present state is no pleasure to her. She aspires to something better and at the same time realizes how little she can rely on herself to achieve it. It hurts her and she finds some relief in judging her self severely. Love of truth makes her hunger and thirst after justice and she becomes strict with herself. She is anxious to exact from herself full satisfaction and real amendment. She admits that to make satisfaction is beyond her own powers. She flies from justice to mercy, by the road Truth shows her: "Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy." She looks beyond her own needs to the needs of her neighbor and from the things they themselves have suffered she learns compassion.

"There are three degrees in the perception of truth. I will first explain these as well as I can and then we will be able to see how the twelve degrees of humility lead to these three degrees of truth: We must look for truth in ourselves - in our neighbor - and in itself. We look for truth in ourselves when we judge ourselves, in our neighbors when we have sympathy for their sufferings, and in itself when we contemplate it with a clean heart. It is important to observe the order of these degrees as well as their number. First of all, truth teaches us that we must look for it in our neighbors before we seek it in itself. You will then see easily why you must seek it in yourself before you seek it in your neighbors. In the list of the beatitudes, the merciful are spoken of before the clean of heart. The merciful quickly grasp the truth in their neighbors when their heart goes out to them with a love that unites them so closely that they feel the neighbor's good and ill as if it were their own. With the weak they are weak, with the scandalized, they are on fire. Their hearts are made more clear-sighted by love and they experience the delight of contemplating truth, not now in others, but in itself and for love of it, they bear their neighbor's sorrows."

Let us define "humility". Humility is a virtue by which a person has a proper opinion of himself because he knows himself well. This is the virtue that belongs to those who have set their hearts to the climb and have gone from virtue to virtue, from step to step, until they reach the highest peak of humility and gaze upon the Truth from the watch-tower of Zion. "For the lawgiver will give a blessing." This means that he who gives the law is the same who gives the blessing; he who commands humility will lead us safely to the truth. Who is this lawgiver? Who but the good and sweet Lord who gives a law to those who wander from the way? They wander from the way because they have gone astray from the truth. Will they then be deserted by our sweet Lord? No, the law that this good and kind Lord gives them is the way of humility by which they can return to the knowledge of the truth. The Lord is kind but also just. Because he is kind, he gives them a chance of regaining safety; but because he is also just, he vindicates the law. His kindness will not let them perish; his justice will not omit to impose some punishment."

I will first try to show what we may expect to find at the top of the steps of humility. The toil will be easier if we have the profit before our eyes. Our Lord shows us plainly both the difficulty and the reward of the work. "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." The way is humility, the goal is truth. The first is the labor, the second the reward. But, you may ask: "How do I know that he is speaking of humility? He only uses a general word: "I am the Way"? Well, I will give you a clearer test. "Learn of me, for I am meek and humnble of heart." He points to himself as an example of humility, a model of meekness. Imitate him and you will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life.

If, after the consummation of the cross, our Lord Jesus Christ had arisen again to this our mortal existence and to the miseries of this present life, I should have said He had returned, not that He had passed over: that He had gone back to His former condition, not transmigrated to a state more sublime. Now, having Himself passed over to a newness of life, He invites us also to make the same passage, He summons us to Galilee!

“It seems to me that in a certain sense, we have a greater cause for celebrating and rejoicing than have the angels. Certainly they see God. They ponder on his wisdom, they wonder at his power. They enjoy his sweetness. But all of this, they see in a nature other than their own. For he never took on the nature of angels. But because he became in truth an offspring of Abraham, we see our God, our Lord, our joy, in the very same nature in which we ourselves are!”

"Who is there who would look upon eternity making a new start, strength itself weak, bread hungry, the fountain thirsty and not be rendered dumb? But who is there who would behold the beginning of our salvation, the day of human redemption, and not break forth in exultation and praise? God is made man! Who knows how to speak about that? Our Jesus, our Savior, our joy comes among us. Who can keep silent? If we cannot keep silent and cannot speak, what else can we do but celebrate in song? Therefore let us celebrate God, our salvation, in song!"

Behold peace, not promised but present, not deferred but conferred, not prophesied but presented. Behold, God the Father has sent to the earth, as it were, a sack filled with his mercy, a sack that must be cut to pieces in the passion so that it can pour out what is concealed in it for our ransom; a small sack, indeed, but stuffed full. A child has been given us, but in him dwells the whole fullness of divinity. He came in the flesh so that in this way he might be shown to those made of flesh, and in the likeness of humanity so that his graciousness might be recognized. When God’s humanity becomes known, his graciousness can no longer be concealed.

“Unto us a Child is born.” A Child who is the ancient of days. Child in bodily form and age; ancient of days in the Word’s eternity past understanding. And though, as the ancient of days, he is not a child, still he is always new; indeed he is just as new as newness itself which remains always in him and renews all things. Every single thing grows old just so much as it recedes from him, and is renewed in the degree that it returns. And, in a way unheard of, the reason for his youth and age is one and the same, for his eternity has no beginning in birth nor decline in old age. For him, his very newness is ancient and his antiquity new!"

Love's birthplace is God. There it is born, there nourished, there developed. There it is a citizen, not a stranger but a native. Love is given by God alone, and it endures in Him, for it is due to no one else but Him and for His sake.

You have one cell outwardly, another within you. The outward cell is the house in which your soul dwells together with your body; the inner cell is your conscience and in that it is God who should dwell with your spirit, he who is more interior to you than all else that is within you. The door of the outward enclosure is a sign of the guarded door within you, so that as the bodily senses are prevented from wandering abroad by the outward enclosure, so the inner senses are kept always within their own domain.

The love of God is a river of peace, streaming out in its greatness and flowing in with gentle waters. At the same time it is a torrent, rushing along with mighty force and sweeping everything away with it.

In this, truly, friendship shines forth with a special right of its own, that among those who are bound by the tie of friendship, all joys, all security, all sweetness, all charms are experienced.

And so in friendship are joined honor and charm, truth and joy, sweetness and good-will, affection and action. And all these take their beginning from Christ, advance through Christ, and are perfected in Christ. Therefore, not too steep or unnatural does the ascent appear from Christ, as the inspiration of the love by which we love our friend, to Christ giving himself to us as our Friend for us to love, so that charm may follow upon charm sweetness upon sweetness and affection upon affection. And thus, friend cleaving to friend in the spirit of Christ, is made with Christ but one heart and one soul, and so mounting aloft through degrees of love to friendship with Christ, he is made one spirit with him.

The first step of pride is curiosity. How does it show itself? You see one who up to this time had every appearance of being an excellent monk. Now you begin to notice that wherever he is, standing, walking, or sitting, his eyes are wandering, his glance darts right and left, his ears are cocked. Some change has taken place in him; every movement shows it. 'The perverse man winks with his eye, nudges with his foot, points with his finger'. These symptoms show his soul has caught some disease. He used to watch over his own conduct; now all his watchfulness is for others. 'He does not know himself so he must go forth to pasture his goats.' Goats are a symbol of sin and I am applying the word to his eyes and ears. They are windows through which death creeps into the soul, as death came into the world by sin. These are the flocks the curious man tends, while he lets his soul starve. 'My man! If you gave yourself the attention you ought, I do not think you would have much time to look after others!'

(Paraphrased and abbreviated from "The Mirror of Charity" Book II, Chapter 17 by Aelred of Rievaulx)

Aelred, one of the great wisdom figures of our Cistercian Tradition is having a very frank conversation with a young man, ("novice"), who just entered the monastery. Most people think Aelred had a real knack for dealing with newcomers. This fascinating exchange, which sounds to us surprisingly contemporary, actually took place over nine hundred years ago! You are invited to listen in.

Novice: Thanks for seeing me today Father. There is something I want to ask you about; something that seems to me — kind of strange. You see, before I joined the monastery; when I was still living a very secular way of life, I made some bad choices and — well, at the time, I felt bad about that. I knew I had sinned and I felt awful. I actually cried — I'm serious. But, after I admitted my sin . . . wow, I felt such a strong, sweet love for God welling up inside me! I mean, it was intoxicating! Each time I confessed my sins, I felt so peaceful and happy, I mean — like I was drunk with God. At those moments — I felt so in love with God. Now, I'm a monk living in a monastery and — I don't say I rarely have that sweet feeling . . . I don't experience it at all! Isn't that strange?

Aelred: I wonder — would you say the way you lived before was holier or more acceptable to God?

Novice: Oh — no way. believe me, if I had done outside even a tiny portion of what I do in the monastery, my friends all would have thought I was a saint!

Aelred: Let me ask you — before you came to the monastery did you ever experience what the bible says that: "it is through tribulations that we enter the kingdom of God."

Novice: Hm. No — I can't say I remember an experience like that. What I remember is that, fairly often, I had the feeling that I really loved Christ in a more intense way.

Aelred: Would you say you were suffering for Christ as much in those days as you are now?

Novice: Ha — heck no. Out there, I wouldn't put up for one minute with what I put up with in the monastery all the time! I definitely would not have imposed silence on myself or held back from shooting the bull and gossiping with my friends. Actually, after I cried, those moments I told you about, I'd go right back to cutting up with my friends and laughing and telling stories about people. I was free to do what I wanted so — I went to parties; I drank and I caught up with my sleep in the morning.

Aelred: And now — what is your life like now?

Novice: Oh brother. Well — the food is pretty sparse. The clothes are plain. I drink water . . . some orange juice; catch up with my sleep over a book. The bed isn't all that comfortable, and when I'd like to sleep in, I've got a clanging bell in my ear. A whole work period can go by and I don't speak a word to anyone. In the monastery, there's no room for self-will or being lazy. Having said this . . . I guess I should mention one or two things that I really like . . . The monks are kind and respectful toward each other. It's peaceful here and you feel free of the pressures and crazy pace of the world outside. The brothers share everything in common and you don't see partiality or favoritism. And it's amazing really, the way everyone defers to and cooperates with the abbot. Actually, everything you read in the bible you can see the brothers doing in the monastery.

Aelred: Since you're quite new to the life, I won't accuse you of boasting . . . you might be a little idealistic. Keep in mind that any religious community includes people who fail or fall short of their religious profession. But, let me ask you — if you could, would you give up the hard monastic practices you just described if you could get back the sweet feelings and tears you used to have?

Novice: No — no, I wouldn't want to do that.

Aelred: Why not?

Novice: Hm. Well, for one thing, when I used to cry and experience those sweet feelings for God, it didn't actually give me back a quiet conscience. But monastic life does that for me. I have real peace of conscience here and . . . something else — you know, I don't fear death the way I used to. Hm. That's odd. I guess, now, I'm wondering why I actually loved God more outside the monastery, when I had less peace.

Aelred: Do this little thought experiment with me. You are the owner of a large estate and two men work for you. One guy not only does everything you ask him to do and promptly, but he actually does extra things for you without being asked. The other guy repeatedly disobeys you and would never put up with the slightest unpleasantness for your sake. Both of these guys say "I'm devoted to you". Which one do you believe?

Novice: Obviously, I believe the first one. The second one should be fired.

Aelred: Good — well, in light of that, tell me now which of these two states of life of yours you judge to be best.

Novice: Help me to see what you're getting at here.

Aelred: Listen — here's the point. If you find, as a novice, that you remember pleasant feelings you experienced when you life was selfish and undisciplined — break with them. Put that all behind you. Don't be mislead by feelings alone — be thoughtful and reflective about what is truly good and truly a source of happiness and with this in mind, tell me now whether you would rather live in that former way than the way you are living now.

Novice: O.k. The truth is, I have to admit that, if I chose that former way of life — it wouldn't be for Christ or for a desire to be a better person, but only to avoid hardship and suffering — or out of craving for more pleasure.

Aelred: So — you definitely do not wish to return to that way of life.

Novice: No — I don't.

Aelred: That's interesting because — well . . . you seem to insist that when you lived that former life you loved God more!

Novice: Ha. I don't know what to say. My back is against the wall! That I loved God more out there I can't doubt. It is what I experienced! And yet when you say someone who serves God more fervently loves God more — I can't deny that. Obviously, a person whose behavior is more in line with the scriptures is the better person. I'm at a loss. Father — it's a bit painful. I mean, are you asking me to believe that those powerful experiences; the overwhelming feelings I had — that they meant nothing?

Aelred: Absolutely not. Those feelings were a gift from God, and look, they've been enormously fruitful in your life! They will continue to be — so long as you understand the meaning of these feelings. Here's the point, brother, you must understand that you cannot measure love for God by a fleeting feeling. Let me give you an example. You go to see a play performed in a theater. The play features a woman; a beautiful woman, whose character awakens in you a deep sympathy and intense feelings. Now, watching the play, you are, at moments so moved by the feelings awakened in you by this actress that you begin to cry. Would it not be ridiculous on the basis of these tears to infer some quality of love in you for that woman? Are you going to say you "love" the character in this play; a woman for whom you wouldn't suffer the slightest inconvenience after the show is finished? Now, think of yourself before God. What if, by God's design, a young man who is indulging himself in all sorts of gratuitous pleasures is, periodically, stung by regret because of a felt attachment to God, and then immediately goes back to his partying and gossip and lying, having shed those sterile and fruitless tears? What do those tears and sweet feelings mean? Is it not a bit crazy to conclude, because of these tears and sweet feelings that he loves God more than someone who devotes himself entirely to doing God's will and even suffers for his zeal in serving God?

Novice: Yeah. You're right. O.k. — I get your point. Father, the truth is — I'm a little embarrassed. You're giving me a glimpse of myself that is hard to look at. It was a little stupid of me to think that, because I hear some Gregorian chant or listen to a powerful sermon and am able to squeeze a tear or two out of myself, I then immediately commend myself for my devotion to God. I guess it shows that I am still pretty caught up in myself when I make such a big deal of those sweet feelings.

Aelred: You're an honest young man, and so very dear to the Lord! Take heart, son, and be thankful for the insight the Lord has given you, and for the life he has called to you. You are headed for great things. After all, it is better to say to God: "Have mercy on me Lord — I am weak." than to say: "I am wealthy!" when, in fact, you are poor and naked!

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